


The Goopiplier Effect

by a_nonny_moose



Series: My AU [81]
Category: Markiplier Egos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 10:33:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13611552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_nonny_moose/pseuds/a_nonny_moose
Summary: This is what happens when a short, spiteful man creates a large, spiteful fandom.





	The Goopiplier Effect

“Please,” Dark snarled, aura hanging above him like a guillotine, “tell me you’re joking.”

Wilford shook his head, unreadable. “Mark,” he bit out, slumping back in the chair, “decided to make fun of them.”

“Of course he makes fun of them,” Dark growled, clutching the arms of his seat, a king on a throne. “They’re _fans_.” 

The way he said it made it sound like a bad word, and Wilford scowled at the end of his shoe. “We wouldn’t exist without them, Darkipoo.”

“He has nothing without us,” Dark said, getting to his feet, changing the subject. “He knows that this isn’t without consequences.”

“Yeah, well,” Wilford threw a thumb over his shoulder, at the door. “We already have a consequence to deal with.”

“Don’t tell me—”

“Mark’s spite is nothing, if not unmatched by the fanbase,” Wilford muttered, looking up.

Dark looked down his nose at Wilford, disdain overrun by anger. “You’re telling me he’s _here_?”

“In the flesh. Well, uh…”

“What did they _make_?” Dark’s voice was almost hushed, almost awed. 

“I’ll show you.” Wilford led the way, footsteps heavy and flat until he got to the door, resigned. 

Dark followed, back stiff, but stepping gingerly into the hall. 

“Living room,” Wilford started to say, but Dark had already swept towards it in a whirl of smoke. With a sigh, Wilford headed after him. 

* * *

“We have a friend!” Bim restrained himself as the Googles swarmed the new figment first, scanning, beeping. “Who is it?” He poked his head over their shoulders, hoping to catch a glimpse. 

Finally, Google_B choked out a laugh. “He is not dangerous, at least, but…”

The Googles parted to let Bim sprint forwards to seize the newcomer’s hand. 

_Glop._

“Wh—”

“Hel—looo,” followed by a very wet hiccup. 

“This,” Dr. Iplier said, shouldering forward, “Is Goopiplier.”

Bim froze, staring at his hand. “Is he covered in… glue?”

“Sli—ime, actuallyyyyyy,” Goopiplier said, and Bim struggled to find a face to address himself to. Goop was a shifting mass of, well, _goop_ , in the shape of a person. 

In the middle of it all, Bim found a mouth and slow-blinking eyes. “Er, hi.”

“If you will excuse us,” Google_G muttered, gathering up the equipment they’d piled in the living room, “we have matters to attend to.” With that, he pulled the other three androids out of the room, Oliver still staring, fascinated. 

“You’ll have to excuse the Googles,” Dr. Iplier laughed, turning back to Goop. “They aren’t the most social.”

“But still more than the Host.” Bim led Goop over to the couch, and the three of them sat, Dr. Iplier trying not to wince as slime seeped into the cushions.

“Ho-ost?” Goop looked from Bim to the Doctor, and Bim fidgeted.

“He doesn’t like coming out much, but I’m sure you’ll see him sooner or—”

“He’s in his room,” Dr. Iplier said shortly, surprising them. “He didn’t think he should’ve come out.”

“Why—”

“Anyway,” Dr. Iplier brushed Bim’s stricken face aside, smiling warmly, “tell us about yourself, Goop.”

“He was created by our _lovely_ fanbase, isn’t that right, Goop?” Dark had slipped into the room, already sneering. 

“Dark, stop—” Bim was already on his feet, about to push Dark away, but Dark’s aura pushed him aside like a bird before a runaway train. 

“Now, what have we here?” Dark descended on Goop, a carrion crow, leering. 

“Dark.” It was a warning, and Dr. Iplier moved forward.

“So young.” Dark’s eyes roved over Goop, making no effort to hide his distaste. “So naïve.”

Dr. Iplier pulled Dark back by the shoulder, rough, but his eyes were on Goop. Goop quailed under Dark’s gaze, shrank back from the lashing tendrils of smoke, starting to become more and more formless. 

“Interesting,” Dark spat, before turning to face Dr. Iplier. “I’m only introducing myself, Doctor.”

“You’re being edgy,” Wilford muttered from the doorway, spinning his knife in his hands. He rolled his eyes as the others turned, walking further into the room. “Welcome to the family, eh?” Wilford made to clap Goop on the shoulder, but seemed to think better of it. 

“We were making _friends_.” Bim’s voice was uncharacteristically harsh, eyes lowered, and Dark spared him a sideways glance. 

“I’m sure you were,” Dark said, sickly sweet. He sighed dramatically, looking around at them all. “Well, if my presence here isn’t wanted, I suppose I’ll get back to work.” He straightened his suit, ignoring Wilford’s suspicious glare. 

“Although—” Dark paused at the doorway, and Wilford huffed, knowing what was coming. “I’ll be in my office if you need me, Goop. I’m sure you’ll have a lot of questions once the fading starts.” A wink, and Dark was gone, a ringing hanging in the air. 

“Fading?” Bim looked, horrified, from Dr. Iplier to Wilford, clenched jaw, to Goop, still terrified and shapeless.

“Well.” Wilford breathed, looking at them. “I have work to do, too. Afternoon, Goop.” Wilford disappeared in a puff of glitter, and Bim was left staring at Dr. Iplier in pin-drop silence. 

“Wha—at did he meaaaaaan?” Goop formed a mouth long enough to speak, slowly pulling himself out of the couch cushions. 

Bim started to explain, but Dr. Iplier cut him off. “Goop, you must be hungry. Manifestation does that to a—er—person. Let’s get you a sandwich, huh?”

“I really onl-ly eat gluuuuuue.”

Bim and Dr. Iplier shared a look, and Bim sighed. “I’m sure the Googles have some, I’ll go get it.”

* * *

“Hey, Googs?” Bim knocked on the Googles’ door, tentative. “I need some—er, Goop needs—”

The door opened, and two sets of arms pulled him into the darkened room. Bim started to spew questions, obscenities, and Google_G shushed him. 

“Wh—"

“Quiet, and do not touch.”

Bim stared, wide-eyed and effectively stunned into silence, as Google_G and _R scrambled back to their stations.

Oliver tinkered with what looked like a flickering, three-dimensional hologram of Goop, projected into space, as Google_B made notes, brow furrowed. After a moment, Google_B turned to address Bim.

“Bim. I am sure you have questions.”

“What _is_ this?”

“We are studying the newest figment,” Oliver said, matter-of-fact. A tiny whirr as he rolled his eyes. “Do try to keep up.”

Google_B shot Oliver a glare, Google_G watching on reproachfully. “This,” Google_B said, gesturing to the hologram, “is our working augmented reality simulation engine, or A-R-S-E—”

“There is no need to shorten it,” Google_R mumbled, and the hologram wavered. 

“—which allows us to analyze objects or people in-depth,” Google_B finished, speaking over him. “We make it a point to keep ourselves abreast of the figments in the office, especially any… new developments.”

“Right.” Bim watched the Goop hologram drip pixels onto the table, shifting between human and a puddle of slime. “What have you, uh, found out?”

Oliver spoke up as the hologram finally steadied, wavering blue and green suspended in the air. “Goopiplier appears to be made of cross-linked polymers, making his body entirely a non-Newtonian fluid; he exhibits shear thinning and thickening abilities, though I am not entirely certain how his anatomy functions.”

Google_R hit a few buttons at his computer, and a cross-section of Goop appeared, rotating slowly. Oliver poked at it, making the light fizzle. Bim hid a giggle, watching the vivisection squirm, Oliver still focused intently on it. 

“In simplistic terms,” Google_B said, beeping, “he is quite literally made of slime.”

“That’s really cool,” Bim said, hushed. Google_G swatted Oliver’s hand away, and the projection returned to a full-body animation of Goop dripping onto the carpet. He slurped at the air, mouth shifting, and Bim remembered why he was here. “I came in here for, uh, glue.”

“Glue?” Google_R turned, squinting. “Why do you need—”

“Fascinating,” Oliver muttered, glancing at Google_B. “It would appear that in order to upkeep polymer production, Goopiplier requires artificial replenishment.”

Google_B groaned, fans whirring. “He _eats_ glue?”

“Um. Yes.”

“The subscribers are nothing if not imaginative,” Google_G laughed, starting to rummage through their closet. Google_R flicked the lights back on, and the hologram faded: Oliver still glaring at the space it had been. 

Bim shifted from one foot to another as Google_R turned back to his work, Google_B staring at a spot in space. 

“Do you think Goop will like it here?” Bim nudged Google_B, smiling gently.

“While he’s here, sure.” Google_B crossed his arms, gaze sharp behind his glasses. 

Bim looked him over for a moment, lost for words. Dark’s words-- _I’m sure you’ll have a lot of questions once the fading starts--_ drifted across his mind again. “What do—what do you mean?”

Google_B rolled his eyes. “You cannot possibly imagine that Goop will live _long_ , Bim.”

“He—he—”

“Statistically speaking,” Oliver butted in, fiddling with his computer, “Goop is not even _close_ to corporeal. He should fade—and he will fade—within the day.” He looked up at Bim, impassive. “Surely you, of all people, must know how easy it is to fade.”

“That is quite enough.” Google_G had reappeared with a tub full of bottles of glue, eyes nearly sparking, glitching in anger. “I will help you to the kitchen, if that is alright, Bim.” 

Without another word, Google_G swept the two of them from the room, Oliver staring after them, Google_B and _R silent. 

* * *

Google_G pulled Bim halfway down the hall before screeching to a halt, dropping the bucket of glue. “Bim,” he said, urgent, beeping, “do not listen to the others.”

Bim stiffened, fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve. “Googs, I…”

“Bim.” Google_G put his hands on Bim’s shoulders, trying to ground him, and locked eyes. “Please.”

“I mean, he’s right.” Bim looked up with a determined set to his jaw, the light shrinking from his eyes. “I should know how fading feels. I _do_ know how it feels. And I—” he shook Google_G off, impatient, “—won’t let that happen to Goop.”

“I am not implying that you can _stop_ it from happening, only that you should be prepared when—”

“C’mon, Green.” Bim hefted the tub into his arms, bottles shifting, glue sloshing. Google_G reached out to steady him, but Bim shrugged him off. “Let’s go, Goop’s waiting.”

* * *

By the time Google_G and Bim walked into the kitchen, Goop and Dr. Iplier were waiting at the table, Goop laughing at a joke. Bim paused for a moment, seeing him. It was hardly a laugh, warbling and wet; hardly a smile, formless against the melting slime of his face. And yet, it spurred something familiar in Bim’s chest. 

“Hey, we brought glue!”

Dr. Iplier looked up, still smiling from his own joke. “Oh, you’ve brought Green.”

“Hello, Doctor.” Google_G inclined his head, still trying to help Bim set the container down without dropping anything. 

“Fo-ood,” Goop mumbled, reaching for a bottle. “Tha-ank yoooou.” 

The others tried not to stare, shocked, as Goop emptied the contents of a glue bottle into his mouth. 

“Well,” Dr. Iplier muttered, pushing himself to his feet, “I have some paperwork to do, if you two don’t mind looking after… this, for a while.”

Bim narrowed his eyes. “We’d love to hang out with Goop, Doc. Do you think Dark and Will will have a room ready for him soon?”

Google_G shook his head at the Doctor behind Bim’s back, and Dr. Iplier forced himself to smile. “Of course, Bim.” He patted Bim’s shoulder as he passed them, waving goodbye to Goop, who was attempting to lick clean the inside of the glue bottle, white puddles starting to form at his feet. 

“Now that that’s settled,” Bim said, cheery, turning to face the other two, “who wants glue?”

Google_G didn’t experience fear often, he thought—the Googles were nearly indestructible, after all. But now, looking into the hard glitter of Bim’s eyes, he thought that he might be close.

Dr. Iplier slipped into the hall, smile dropping from his face like a leaden mask. Goop was so charming, so silly, and he had _hours_ left. Hours where there should have been years, like the others. 

Like Bim. 

He caught himself on the wall as he staggered, suddenly feeling too old for indoctrinating new Egos that would fade within the day. He’d known this was coming, but it hurt all the same. Dr. Iplier squeezed his eyes shut, thinking of the morning. Of the Host, over a cup of coffee, warning him to cover the couches in newspaper, to not get attached too quickly. 

The Host. 

Dr. Iplier took a few more steps down the hall, making for the Host’s room. Words of comfort, words of truth. What he needed now were words, words, words. 

The door to the Host’s room blew open, as if by a gust of wind, and beckoned him in. 

“Host?” Dr. Iplier shuffled in, making for the candlelit desk at the back of the room.

“Doctor.” The Host’s voice carried across the bookshelves, just short of terse. “Is the new one gone yet?”

Dr. Iplier winced, settling into a familiar chair. “His name is Goop.”

“I take it that he is not gone, then.” The Host turned, shaking his head, to give the Doctor his full attention. “You are sentimental.”

“Of course I am,” Dr. Iplier bit out, head in his hands. “He’s one of us.”

“There are many like us.”

“He just wants to fit in.”

“The same is true of the rest of us.”

“God,” Dr. Iplier chastised, looking up. “You’re as bad as the Googles.”

The Host hid a smile, fiddling with his sleeve. “Harsh of you, Doctor.”

“The kid wants to exist,” Dr. Iplier said, the apology going unsaid in the pause of his hand against the Host’s leg. “Who can blame him for that?”

“No one,” the Host muttered, voice dropping. “But even the Doctor should understand that there are only so many figments that can ever come to form, and those that do should guard their power jealously.”

“Host, I—”

The Host shook his head and turned away, blond hair glinting in the light, and the only sound was the tapping of his typewriter. 

Dr. Iplier sighed after a moment, turning the Host’s words over. Few of all the characters Mark had played had become corporeal. Only the lucky few. 

A moment, and the Host handed Dr. Iplier a volume with a worn bookmark stuck between the pages. It was one of the few not yet translated to Braille, and the Doctor opened it with a puff of dust. By the flickering candlelight, he began to read, and could almost forget the fading life in the next room.

“Chapter three,” and the Host began to type. “Although there was evening brightness showing through the windows of the bunkhouse, inside it was dusk. Through the open door came the thuds and occasional clangs of a horseshoe game, and now and then the sound of voices raised in approval or derision…”

* * *

The door slammed behind Wilford as he rounded on Dark, teeth bared. “I can’t _believe_ you.”

“What’s not to believe?” Dark smoothed his suit, a self-satisfied smile on his face. “I was only warning him.”

Wilford sent his knife flying past Dark’s ear with a _shing_ , and neither of them flinched. 

“You just don’t care, is that it?” Wilford whispered, a hangdog look on his face. “The kid’s fading, Mark’s finished with us, and you don’t care?”

“What do you expect me to do?” Dark looked Wilford up and down with a sneer, a muscle jumping in his jaw. “Scream, cry, try to stop the inevitable?”

“Inevitable?” Wilford stopped dead, the floor falling away under his feet.

Dark paused, the feeling that he’d tipped his hand, and turned away. “No need to be so worked up, Will,” the cool returned to his voice. 

Wilford let the ringing silence hang for a moment, waiting, and then seemed to get his bearings again. “So aloof, Darkipoo. One might think that there’s nothing in that shell of yours.”

“Quite right.” Dark looked out of the windows, shadows beginning to lengthen by the late afternoon.

“So.” Wilford stepped forward to stand next to him, locking eyes with Dark’s reflection. “What’s going to happen?”

* * *

“It is fascinating, with all due respect.” Google_G looked on as Bim sipped the dregs of his coffee, Goop clearing out the last of the glue bottles. “The others and I would appreciate insight into your digestives, Goop.”

“I do-on’t understand it myseeeeeelf,” Goog chuckled, gurgling a bit. 

“It might be better to ask the fans,” Bim murmured, smiling into his cup. “They create us, after all.”

“It is not so simple, Bim,” Google_G started to say, catching his eye, but Bim only laughed, pushing him aside. 

“It’s a lot of magic,” Bim said, picking up his mug. “Some weird stuff has happened.”

“I ca-an teeeeell,” Goop said, smiling widely. 

Bim smiled warmly back, and started to take a sip. “Looks like I’m out of coffee, ha ha haa.”

Google_G flinched imperceptibly as Bim made to stand and refill his drink.

“No-ooo,” Goop insisted, standing. “Le-et meeeee.”

“Well, all right.” Bim settled back, close to Google_G, and handed Goop his cup. “Thank you, Goop.”

“My-y pleasureee,” he mumbled, getting to his feet with a wet _squelch_.

Wordless, Bim grinned at Google_G, who nodded, uncomfortable, back to him. 

A moment, and the heart-stopping _smash_ of Bim’s mug against the floor, the wail of Goop’s scream, echoing down the hall. 

* * *

Dark and Wilford had watched the sun go down in silence by the time that Bim knocked on the door, panting, sweating, and out of breath. 

“Right on time,” Dark murmured, as the door was flung open.

“Will, D-Dark!” Bim stumbled in, falling over himself. “It’s—”

“You can’t say I didn’t warn you, Trimmer,” Dark said, folding his hands behind his back. “Do try not to drip on the carpet, would you?”

Bim looked down at his hands, covered in rust-tinted slime, as Wilford stifled a laugh. Back up, bug-eyed, at the two heads of the table, sneering at him. 

“W-Will?”

A shrug, and Wilford and Dark exchanged an entire conversation in a glance. 

Wilford sighed. “Go find Doc, I’ll meet you there.”

Bim was gone in a dead sprint down the hall, glue seeping into the carpet. Dark scowled, scuffing his shoe over one of the patches. 

“What do you want me to do?” Wilford said, pausing with his hand on the doorknob. 

Dark raised an eyebrow. “Asking for _orders_? Why, Wilford.”

“Shut up.” Wilford let the door swing shut before continuing, voice low. “I want the same things you do, Darky.”

Dark pressed his lips into a line, grudging respect as he took in Wilford’s straight back and set shoulders. “Put him with the others.”

A nod, and Wilford was gone. 

* * *

Dr. Iplier nearly ran into Wilford in the hall, affording him a glare before hurrying in the direction of the kitchen. Wilford steeled himself before following, shoulders straightened under a long-forgotten mantle. 

“Goop, listen, you have to—you have to—”

“Bim.”

“Just—just breathe, okay? We’re here, I’m here, I’m not going to leave—”

“Bim.”

“Goop, Goop, I’m sorry, I—”

Wilford laid a hand on Bim’s shoulder, something close to an apology, as Dr. Iplier descended on Goop’s melting form. Bim jumped, more surprise than fear, and turned to pull Wilford into an approximation of a hug. His shoulders shook, and Wilford patted his back, gentle, awkward. 

Dr. Iplier met Wilford’s eye over Goop’s body, and the Doctor slowly shook his head. 

A sigh, and Wilford carefully untangled Bim from the front of his shirt. “Bim, Bim, look at me.”

“He—I tried—” 

“I know, I know.” Wilford was, for once, more soothing than gruff, and Bim looked up with glittering tears. “Power doesn’t choose everyone, Bim.”

Bim set his jaw, then, eyes narrowing. “It’s not fair.”

“I know.” Wilford chanced a look at Dr. Iplier, who nodded a bit, watching Bim closely, Goop starting to melt entirely away. “Just, let’s get you out of here, all right, slugger?”

Bim was shaking far too much to protest, and Wilford gathered him up and set him on his feet. “Do you—” Bim laughed shakily, looking anywhere but the floor, “—do you think he’ll come back?”

Wilford’s breath stopped in his chest, knowing the answer. “He—”

“There’s nothing more I can do,” Dr. Iplier interrupted, glaring at Wilford, taking Bim’s arm. 

The death confirmed, Bim took a breath, clutching at the Doctor’s sleeve. “Doc…”

Dr. Iplier glanced over Bim, pale and shaking, and made a decision. “Will, take Bim to bed, please. He’s had enough shock for today.”

“You don’t want me to take care of, er…” Wilford gestured to the kitchen, covered in globs of slime and the nearly-liquid body of yet another brother beyond saving.

Dr. Iplier seemed to hesitate, eyes unfocused behind a familiar dark mist of persuasion. 

“If you can take Bim up to bed,” Wilford prodded, sticking his hands in his pockets, “I can clean up.” He leaned forward a bit, as if confiding in Dr. Iplier. “I think he needs you right now.”

“Well, okay,” Dr. Iplier huffed, seeing Bim fold himself into his chest. “Thank you, Will.”

Bim looked back at Wilford as the Doctor swept them out of the kitchen, and Wilford paused, seeing a stranger. “Bim…”

Bim didn’t speak, dead-eyed as a shark, an unfamiliar set to his jaw. In a blink, he was gone, and Wilford was left alone with the remains of Goop.

* * *

Dark met Wilford at the door to the basement, keys in his hand. “All according to plan?” he asked, looking sideways at Wilford as he unlocked the door.

Wilford hefted the bag into his hands, still uncomfortably warm and squishy. “Of course,” he huffed, trying not to think of what he was holding. 

Dark chuckled, grim, before stepping back to let Wilford go downstairs first. “The great Warfstache, squeamish?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Wilford scoffed, carefully starting down the steps. “It’s just different now.”

“Everything is different,” Dark said, closing the door after them. They descended in blackness, the only sound the tap of their footsteps and Dark’s aura ringing, keeping watch. “It’s not bad, Will.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Wilford lapsed into silence, dragging the body bag towards the second, hidden door, bars on the window. 

Dark shook his head, unlocking the second door and pocketing the keys. “Remember that we’re the lucky ones, Wilford.”

“Shut up.”

“Just a friendly reminder.” Dark’s voice was cold, and he started to walk away. “Try not to take so long down here.” Footsteps, and the sound of the door to the rest of the office swinging shut. 

Wilford took a breath before he walked in, trying to focus on anything other than the smell. 

The back room, here, had housed its fair share of figments. Each had left their mark: As Wilford shuffled in, the images of each lost consciousness, each _figment_ , hit him like a wall. 

Some weren’t so lost, after all. 

Potatoes, paint, old barbeque. The room, though large, was cramped by makeshift cells lining the walls. They were cages, really, filled with paraphernalia. Here and there, Wilford saw something he recognized. A pair of oversized gloves, a cowboy hat and sunglasses. He tried not to look. 

The back wall was filled with things that were more than odd mementos. The ghosts there could hardly be called figments, wailing, repeating the same few lines over and over, looping through the few seconds, really, of screentime that they’d ever had. 

Wilford walked past them without raising his head, and still they noticed him, swarming to the bars. 

“Suh, dude!”

“Squirrels!”

“Ho, ho, ho!”

Wilford didn’t flinch as they raged, and after a moment, each of them retreated to the corners of their cell. These were the forgotten figments, the ones that would never manifest. These were the _unlucky_ few, those that were forced into consciousness, but never into form: washed out shadows. 

Wilford threw Goop’s body, bag, glue, and all, into the last cell. If he was lucky, he’d come back. If he was smart, he’d fade out of existence and become an empty glue bottle in another cage--another memory, another regret, but never like the others. 

The cages clinked as Wilford shuffled back towards the exit, thinking of their next project and when Bim would be well enough to film and what was for dinner and anything other than the smell of oil and smoke and sickly-sweet rot hanging in the air. 

He paused a moment too long at one of the cages, looking in with something that approached pity. The Googles had tried to fix him, tried for too hard and too long to leave him anything but broken. Even now, clinging to consciousness with flickering eyes and a jaw long since dislocated, Bing was detestable. 

Wilford took off for the door as Bing stirred, eyes flickering in his direction. This place was filled with ghosts, nothing more, nothing less. 

A shiver, and Wilford locked the door behind him as he left. 

Some things were best left forgotten, for now.


End file.
